


Following Your Father's Footsteps

by siriuslywinchester



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst, Family, Gen, Karting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslywinchester/pseuds/siriuslywinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Max Verstappen Post Race Angst (hopefully?) for the anon on tumblr. :)</p><p>Set in Max's carting days and slightly based on events detailed in <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/motorsport/formulaone/11204319/How-Max-Verstappen-learnt-from-his-father-Joss-silent-treatment-in-his-progression-to-F1.html">THIS</a> article.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following Your Father's Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: though based on the article linked in the summary this is completely fictional.

Max sat stunned momentarily. Half of his kart embedded in the wall of tyres in front of him, his right front wheel still flipping away to the side of him and the chassis cracked into pieces scattered in the gravel behind him.

Marshalls ran over and began to pull him out of the wreckage, fussing over him to make sure he was OK before allowing him to walk off the track, his race ended. 

He glanced back at the kart, his heart in his mouth as he saw the state it was in, knowing his team would be disappointed in him. Tears filled his eyes, knowing that he'd made a stupid mistake, braking too late to take the corner when he was well ahead of the other drivers and only a few laps from winning the race. He kicked at a piece of chassis as he walked past waving yellow flags and heard the other karts continuing around the track.

By the time he reached the paddock he was in floods of tears, his helmet hanging limply from his arm. Each time the other karts passed by he glanced bitterly at the leader, inwardly kicking himself for his stupid mistake. He didn't care who saw the tears, he fucked up and he knew it. Everyone knew it.

"C'mon Jos, he's just a kid," one of his team engineers said as he entered the garage.

He looked up, blinking back tears as he saw his father storming towards him, arms out in front of him. Max winced, bracing himself for a slap around the head, but Jos grabbed the front of his race suit and hauled him from his feet, dragging him away from the paddock towards the family car. Victoria ran behind them, a look of worry on her face as she tried to keep up.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Jos shouted as he dropped Max in front of the car, "What the fuck did you think you were going to achieve driving like that?"

He paused for breath and Max started to apologise, the tears flowing again as his fathers anger rushed over him.

"Do you even _want_ to get into Formula 1?" he shouted, spit flying from his mouth in rage, "Do you even want to follow in my footsteps? Do you want to be a fucking World Champion? Because if you race like that you'll end up dead before you get there."

Jos spun around and pulled the back seat door open and shoved Max towards it.

"Get in the car," he snarled, "Both of you."

Victoria rushed to climb into the back seat as their father stalked around to the front of the car.

"What about the kart?" Max whimpered, "I should help the team bring it back"

"Fuck that," Jos spat, "Get in the car, we're going home."

Max glanced back across toward the paddock, hearing cheers as whoever won the race crossed the finish line. It should have been him. It should have been his team and his father cheering. He swallowed, a bitter taste stuck in his throat, as his climbed into the car and sat beside his sister.

He couldn't stop the tears. All of his thoughts shouting and raging at himself. If only he'd done this, if only he'd tried that, if only he'd taken that corner a little slower. 

His father was silent in the front seat, his breathing the only sound to suggest he was still angry. His sister reached over and gripped his shaking hand, trying to comfort him with a look of sympathy in her eyes as she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," Max began, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his voice, "I know I let you down. I let myself down. I let everyone down. I was stupid. It's all my fault."

A huge sob stopped his speech as the tears flowed over his cheeks and dropped into his lap. He pulled his hand free from Victoria's and tried to wipe them away but they were immediately replaced by more.

His father didn't reply. Ignoring his son as he pointedly began to hum along to the radio.

"Dad?" Max said, trying to get his attention by tapping him on the shoulder, "Dad, I'm sorry."

Jos still didn't reply, focussing on the road ahead.

Max didn't try again, sitting back in his seat and staring out of the window. 

His father was too mad to talk. Deep down he knew it was because he wanted Max to succeed. He wanted Max to fulfil his dreams of making it to Formula 1, but right now Max just wanted reassurance. He wanted his Dad to hug him and tell him it was a stupid mistake but he can learn from it and grow.

But he knew his Dad wasn't like that. The other kids in the paddock had supportive parents who cared about their sons and daughters, but his Dad cared more about Max's career and reputation than his son's feelings. Max had always known that - he said it was character building for the future.

When they finally arrived at the Verstappen family home, Jos climbed out of the car without talking to his children, unlocking the front door and stepping inside before Max and Victoria had climbed out of the car.

They followed him in quietly, Max's tears finally dried up, though his face was still puffy and red. He toed his race boots off carefully, making sure not to kick them against the wall and fuel his father's anger.

Jos just pointed up the stairs, turning and walking away before Max could ask questions or try to apologise again. Max knew he meant 'Go to your room'. 

He dropped his shoulders, walking up the stairs silently, trying not to stomp his feet as he went, resigned to an evening of lonely misery.

He pushed his bedroom door open, and walked to his desk, his school work scattered across it from trying to finish all of his homework the night before the race. He slumped down into the chair, not removing his race suit and frustrated because he found himself doing school work instead of standing on the podium.

Gripping his pen tightly between his fingers, he forced himself not to cry. He didn't want the tear drops on the paper to blur the ink and leave a constant reminder of his failure. 

He tried to tell himself it was just one race, that he could redeem himself at the next one, but his darkest thoughts were telling him he'd blown it. He hadn't even had a chance to apologise to the team. Would his father even let him race again?

As if summoned by the thoughts, Jos stormed through the bedroom door, throwing something heavy down on Max's lap with a look like thunder. He glanced down at the desk and the pen in his sons hand, before snatching it from him and snapping it in half.

Max tried to protest but his father leaned over him and grabbed the sheets of homework, tearing them into shreds and throwing them up in the air around his sons head.

He didn't speak. Just marched back out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Max looked down and found his father's old steering wheel resting on his thighs. It was beaten up and dusty, but Max immediately recognised it as the steering wheel he'd scored his only podiums with. It was a silent remainer of what Max should be working towards. What Max had fucked up this afternoon with his rookie mistake.

Underneath the wheel, Max found a track layout. The track for his next race. The information for all the corners, the length of the straights, the speed traps, all the data he needed to learn the track scribbled around it in his father's own handwriting.

He knew what it meant. He looked at the pieces of torn paper scattered around him and slid from his chair, leaving them on the floor as he crawled over them towards the wall and settled himself in a kart-type position.

Max closed his eyes and held the wheel out in front of him, the image of the track clear in his brain as he imagined himself waiting for the lights to go out. Un-shed tears built behind his eyes as his thumb pressed the buttons for a perfect start, his mind blurring the track and sending him into the wall as he dropped the wheel into his lap in frustration.

He heard his bedroom door opened again, more slowly this time, and he sensed someone cautiously enter the room.

"Leave him alone, Victoria!" his fathers voice shouted from somewhere further away in the house, "He needs to learn!"

Max opened his eyes, wiping the tears on the back of his hand just in time to see his sister slide back out of the door, a weak and sympathetic smile giving him some hope that he hadn't completely screwed everything up. She knew what it was like to race and have their father disappointed with the outcome. She'd been on the receiving end of his anger in the past, too.

He closed his eyes again and picked up the wheel, imagining the start of the next race and forced himself to gulp down the tears and hurt that was still fresh from the afternoons mistake.

He wouldn't fuck the next race up. He'd show his father he could race properly. His sister still believed in him, he could tell that from her smile and attempts to comfort him. He would show his father that he had what it took to win a race. 

And when he made it to Formula 1, he'd show his father he had what it took to be a World Champion.


End file.
